


The Darkest Arts

by Magestorrow



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-28 01:20:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13893222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magestorrow/pseuds/Magestorrow
Summary: The year is 1995. The wizarding world is in a frenzy over the return of Voldemort, and the Ministry of Magic is desperately trying to push propaganda proclaiming it as false. The Order of Phoenix prepares for an unpredictable threat. It is during this dark hour that an interesting proposition is presented to Albus Dumbledore. Edward H. Blackwood, a former Slytherin, will teach a class at the school with minimum pay - but the class is on one of the darkest types of magic of all. Dumbledore reluctantly agrees.But as students regret the summer slipping through their fingers, Alice Quinn regrets the year she does not remember. She has been missing since her departure at the end of her fourth year. The only clue to her missing memory is the odd tattoo on her arm; one that, eerily enough, does not come off no matter what spell is cast. And there's the flashes she gets, flashes where she vividly remembers doing horrible, horrible things.And those things all involve Hogwarts' newest teacher.





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

In the farthest corner of Knockturn Alley, there was a quaint little shop. Darkness danced across its windows and people rarely ventured inside. Even those who had long ago strayed from the light fervently avoided it. It was supposedly a bookstore; the rickety sign said so in faded paint. But the books in it were forbidden. No one had specifically proclaimed this as a rule, but a book on the Dark Arts could only be hated. 

The old bell rang as a new customer arrived. 

The shopkeeper raised his head from his book. A young man in his mid-twenties, his past was just as mysterious as his shop. He was never seen leaving his shop, for he solely traveled by Apparating. He regarded his customer with a special interest. It had been quite some time since he had last seen her. 

“You've changed,” he said. 

She looked up. Her face gaunt and pale, blue eyes hollow. There was an added maturity to her features, though it was difficult to pinpoint what exactly had caused this change. She protectively clutched the strap of her bag. She looked fragile yet strong. It was an intriguing combination. 

“It's been a year,” he continued. He started to browse the towering shelves, the girl silently following in his footsteps. He had saved the last book she had ordered. The feat had been easily achieved; none of his other customers shared her interest. “Where were you?” 

Her shoulders heaved with heavy sigh. “I don't know.” 

Finger resting on the spine, he turned. “You don't?” She had never been one for sarcasm, but, even if she had developed a talent for it, there was a genuine tone to the words spoken. 

“Memory spell,” she said. 

She grabbed her arm, giving it a tight squeeze. His gaze wandered to the skin hidden underneath her hoodie. The implications of the action was startling. He had seen perfectly good people turn out bad in the past. The world would be at a lost if she had succumbed to her Slytherin kin's foolish ideals. 

Another squeeze. “I woke up in St. Mungo's two months ago.” 

He wordlessly handed her the book. 

“I never went to Hogwarts last year,” she confided, her voice barely above a whisper. She absentmindedly opened the cover of the book. “I don't...I don't remember where I was, but I was there for a year. They say I'll remember eventually.” 

They walked to the register, a normal action that had become surprisingly strange in the year she had been gone. “Have you remembered anything yet?” 

An aghast look flickered across her face. She certainly had, but she gave a quick shake of the head in response. 

He completed the transaction. He didn't press matters. When she was ready to talk, she would. Though they had an undeniable connection, she was only his customer. Perhaps he was a guiding figure in her life. Perhaps he wasn't. It was something that only she could decide, and he knew little of her life away from her studies. 

~v~

There was a man sitting in Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's office. 

Perched precariously on the corner of his desk, the man fiddled with an odd Muggle device. The headmaster of Hogwarts was rightfully shocked by this sight. One could not simply Apparate into Hogwarts, and the few teachers preparing for their classes had not mentioned seeing the strange man roaming the halls of the ancient school. Even if they had, it wouldn't account for the odd device. 

For the first time in several years, Albus was at a loss for what he should say. He came to an awkward stop in the middle of his office. Hearing the swish of the headmaster's quite long robes, the man raised his head. He rested the Muggle contraption on the desk beside him, placing his gloved hands in his lap and giving the old man an eager smile. 

He had been a student there, once. Albus was certain of that. He also had uncanny resemblance to someone he had once known, but that had been a long time ago and this man couldn't have even been his son. 

The name finally came back to him. 

“Hello, Edward,” he warily greeted him. Darkness was on the rise. The boy that had once wandered these halls had been in the company of children who would become Death Eaters. When these two seemingly unrelated tidbits were placed together, they created quite the compelling case. 

The man hopped off the desk. “Hi, Albus.” 

“What brings you to my office?” 

He thought for a moment. “The greater good, I suppose.” 

Shock flickered across his face, only to be hidden behind the calm mask he had become accustomed to over the years. He made his way over to his chair. Sitting down, he observed the man in a different light. Should he consider him a knowledgeable enemy, or an old friend? With a deeply shameful past, nostalgia became far less appreciated. 

Edward wandered throughout the office. When he was satisfied by the expression on Albus' face, he settled into the chair adjacent to the desk. The Muggle device rested in his lap. “I'm sure you have questions, but I want to address a situation of the utmost importance.” He held his gaze. “I want to teach at your school.” 

“The Defense Against the Dark Arts position is filled-” 

“I have a proposition for another class.” 

He grabbed a suitcase that had been hidden beside the desk, heaving it up onto his lap. He unbuckled the straps. Albus saw only a brief glimpse before he shut it once more. The man dropped a thick, ancient volume onto the desk with a resounding thud. The title was studied, the proposed class quickly being issued its fate. 

“You are asking me,” he questioned, voice quiet as he slowly looked up from the impressive piece of literature, “to let you teach a Dark Art?” 

He shifted uneasily in his seat. “Yes.” 

“Why would I be willing to do that?” 

He placed his hand on the cover of the book. “Because you're going to need all of the help you can get to defeat Voldemort. And this book – this old, horrific thing – is the key to it all.” 


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

She pushes her way through the kids boarding the train, clutching her book with one hand and her trunk with the other. Her head pounds at the sound of the other students. She wishes she could be anywhere else – perhaps in Knockturn Alley, perhaps in Hogwarts itself, or perhaps even back at the orphanage. But she is here. She straightens, takes a deep breath and begins her search. 

Finding a place to sit is never an easy task. Friends hurry to claim compartments, the friendless first years clinging to older siblings or somehow finding others in their years. A girl like her, one with no year to quite call her own, is a lost cause. She is a Muggleborn among a house of mainly Purebloods, and a Slytherin in a school where her house is hated by the rest. 

She continues on. The older students greet her with intrigued looks, the younger with hardened glares. She hides a little smile. Why had she been so eager to return? Her grip on her book tightens. The title is obscured by her arm, but she worries that she will be judged. She always has been. She clings to hope that an empty compartment will appear. It doesn't.

But what she does find is one that isn't completely full.

A flustered girl brushes by her. Their eyes momentarily meet, only for Cho Chang to look away and hurry by her. The action is such a simple one, yet it hurts more than the Ravenclaw could have possibly expected. She chalks it up to her house and not the aching tattoo hidden beneath her sleeve.

She peeks into the compartment. 

A horrific smell bombards her. She takes a startled step back, unprepared for the onslaught on her senses. The smell is impossible to place. So she doesn't try to; she thinks back to the brief glimpse she gained. There were four people there. And the four of them – as well as their compartment – were covered in an odd slime.

“Never mind,” she hears a girl say. “Look, we can get rid of all this easily. Scourgify!” 

The smell disappears. She tentatively enters the compartment. Three of the four occupants turn to look at her, the exception being too engrossed in her magazine to take much notice. She adjusts her tie. Takes a deep breath. Grabs onto her arm, even though it hurts too apply too much pressure to the tattoo. Three Gryffindors, one Ravenclaw. Not bad, but also not good.

Her eyes lingers on the boy holding a toad. She has seen him, as well as the others, wandering through the hallways. But he has changed more than the other occupants. He has an older look to his eyes. Wiser. It's quite a familiar look; it has been on her face every time she looks in the mirror. 

But there is a sorrowfulness to it, too. He doesn't seem to carry it with him. She doubts he had even noticed. She thinks back to what she had been told after waking up, and all of the newspapers she had read through the entire summer. Someone had died right in front of him. Voldemort had returned. If that isn't a reason for such a look, she doesn't know what is. 

“Is it alright if I sit here?” she asks.

The Gryffindors exchange uneasy looks. Of course they won't want her to sit here. She is a Slytherin, and there is an unstable divide between their houses. Having Draco Malfoy in Harry Potter's year certainly doesn't help. 

But then the girl with the ginger hair gives her a little smile that melts her heart and gestures for her to join them in their compartment. She eagerly does exactly that. Putting her trunk into the luggage rack, she sits down beside the girl. She is already taking a liking to her. 

She isn't really surprised when the girl sticks out her hand and introduces herself as “Ginny Weasley, fourth year,” as she has an uncanny resemblance to the rest of siblings.

She hesistantly shakes the extended hand, hoping her nervousness isn't as obvious to Ginny as it is to her. “I'm Alice Quinn.” She isn't quite sure what to say for her year. She supposes calling herself a fifth year is correct, though she knows little of the other people who will now be in her classes.

“Neville Longbottom,” the other Gryffindor meekly says. He looks deeply uncomfortable, especially when his eyes land on her Slytherin tie.

“I'm Harry Potter.” No more is needed. 

In the past, Alice might have wondered what it was like to have that name. The few moments she had seen him in the corridors had devolved into endless speculation about what his life must have been like, and now, perhaps, it is even more intriguing than ever. But, for this moment, she is just glad that she has a place to sit.

The Ravenclaw continues to read her magazine.

Ginny gestures over at her. “Alice, this is Luna Lovegood.”

Something about the way she spoke gave her the impression that they were quite close. Alice vaguely remembers catching glimpses of her; the younger Slytherins had been quite fond of making jokes about “Loony Lovegood” in the Common Room. 

Alice smiles. “It's nice to meet you, Luna.”

She raises her head. Large, curious eyes stare at her. They linger on the arm she had been clutching only moments before, and Alice feels a sudden jolt of terror at the attention. Luna's gaze eventually settles on her face. She tilts her head to one side.

“You're the girl who was missing,” she says.

Alice shifts uncomfortably under the curious looks of the compartment's other occupants. Ravenclaws are observant. Even though Luna isn't in her year, she had most likely overheard the other students talking about it. It would have been quite the mystery for the other Ravenclaws.

“I was,” she confirms. She clutches her arm and gives it a tight squeeze. She still hasn't come up with a good explanation for her disappearance.

“Missing?” Ginny questions. 

She looks at both Luna and Alice, her gaze ultimately landing on the black-haired girl sitting to her left. 

Alice desperately wishes she had chosen another compartment.

“She never came to Hogwarts,” Luna airily says. She returns to reading her magazine, as if the conversation never occurred. 

She has no qualms with Luna Lovegood, but she regrets her warm greeting to the other girl. Now she is left with a conversation she doesn't know how to end, and the inquisitive looks of her peers. She shifts uncomfortably again, wanting to hide herself behind the familiar covers of her beloved book.

So she does exactly that.

She props open the book and rests it on her lap. While it would be rude to ignore the conversation, she can get away with sliding just a bit down in her seat and peering over the book. “I don't know why,” she mutters. “I lost my memory...” 

She nervously glances from person to person. Neville's paled, Harry's hand is lingering on his wand, and Ginny is looking at her with narrowed eyes. She raises the book, as if it can somehow shield her from their judgment. But everything becomes even more intense than it already was. Neville has a terrified expression on his face, Harry has pulled out his wand, and Ginny has furrowed her brows.

“Why are you reading a book about the Dark Arts?” Harry finally says, a wary tone to his voice.

Her posture relaxes. If that is the reason for the looks, she can deal with it. She has dealt with them for quite some time, and is not afraid of judgment for that particular interest of hers. “I'm studying.”

“St-studying?” Neville stammers.

Alice nods. “I'm trying to learn about the Killing Curse.”

When Ginny starts to inch away from her, she realizes that she should have worded that a bit differently. She's always terrible at explaining her studies, and reactions like this are the usual ones. She opens her mouth to clear up the confusion, but then the door to the compartment swings open. 

It's the food trolley.

Save for Luna, they all silently rise to their feet and approach the trolley. They choose their candy of choice. She makes sure to stay as far away from the Chocolate Frogs as she can; she doesn't know why, but seeing them makes her heart ache. Then they return to the compartment, and the trolley continues on its way.

She opens her mouth once more. 

But, once again, they are interrupted. 

The door slides to the side with a surprising amount of force, and two fifth years appear in the doorway. She recognizes both of them. They're Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's closest friends. Both of them (though especially Ron) have grown during the time she was gone.

Ron takes one look at her book before grabbing his wand.

“Please put your wand away,” she says with a tired little sigh. She hadn't missed this part of going back to school. “I'm about to explain why I have it, alright? I'm studying the Killing Curse-”

Hermione looks aghast. She tries to interrupt, but Alice is having none of it. She hurriedly gets the last part of the sentence out, hoping that her explanation will satisfy all of them. “-to figure out how to stop it.”

“You can't stop the Killing Curse,” Ron objects. At the very least, he's putting his wand away. That's always a good sign. “It's one of the Unforgivable Curses.”

“Professor Moody-” Hermione pauses. “Well, the _other_ Professor Moody showed us that there's no way to stop it.”

She feels a momentary pang of frustration. Of course the year she was gone would be the year she could have seen it in action! She would never use it herself, naturally, as she couldn't stand the thought of taking the life of another. She's relied on studies conducted by the few scientific minds in the wizarding world.

_A flash of bright, green light. It spirals out of her wand and slams into the man before her. He momentarily loses his balance, but quickly regains it._

_He grins with a childish glee. His arms are spread out, and there's an absolutely maniacal look on his face. “See, Miss Alice?” he questions, tilting his head to the side. Colors swirl around in his eyes. “The Killing Curse does not kill me. This is what happens when a demon inhabits your body.”_

Alice closes the book with shaking hands and rests it on her lap. “Everything boils down to science in the end, correct? Even magic must have some sort of scientific explanation, though it may currently be outside our realm of understanding. Therefore, there must be a reason why someone dies when hit by the Killing Curse. It's the most overpowered spell in the world. There must be _something_ that can stop it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. It's meant to be set during the train ride in Order of the Phoenix, where Harry meets Luna for the first time. I thought it would be a great introduction for Alice.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He's been staring at Severus for a good part of the meeting. If the potions professor has noticed, he's doing quite a good job of not showing it. It's a shame, really. He's bored out of his mind, and Severus was always one for interesting looks.

They're going over house keeping stuff. What to do when the students arrive, how not to act when seated at the table. He suspects that the memo is more for him and Dolores than anyone else. He lets out an inaudible sigh. Albus underestimates how many times he's gone through Hogwarts. It's built on tradition. He's seen his fair share of sorting ceremonies, and, though it was from the student perspective, he knows what he is and isn't supposed to do.

He looks away from Severus. Boring, boring, boring. Teaching is supposed to be _fun_. Hours upon hours of meetings, lesson plan writing and cleaning his classroom are not what he signed up for. 

He impatiently shifts in his chair. No longer occupied with Severus, he begins to look around the room. The other teachers are trying their bests to appear interested, but their attention is thinning. Only Dolores clearly displays her lack of care. She's here to push the Ministry's agenda. And her own, he supposes, though he's unsure of what exactly that is.

Albus finally brings the meeting to a merciful close.

Edward kicks back his chair. The legs scrap against the ground, and heads swivel around to see who is responsible for the noise. He gives an innocent little smile. “See you at the feast,” he says, excusing himself from that suffocating room.

He slips out into the hallway.

After much internal debate, he settles with wandering the empty corridors. There's not much to explore. He's been through the majority of the secret passageways. Even if he hadn't, getting lost would be a terrible way to start the school year. 

He passes ghost after ghost as he travels through the school. Ironically enough, they all look like they've seen a ghost. He's been in the school for the last month, but the sight never grows old. Even the Bloody Baron gives him a wide berth. The living forget his face easily. But the dead? They always have that horrified little look on their face when he walks by. 

It's quite amusing.

Somehow, he ends up in front of his room. He sighs. The classroom will only become enjoyable once it's filled with students. Right now, it's just a lonely room. He needs more to sate his boredom. But he enters it anyways. As he approaches the desk at the front of the room, he's reminded of the device he has stored away in the depths of his robes. He shoves a hand into his pocket. After a bit of fumbling, he finally pulls it out.

“What is that?”

Not alone, then.

Minerva's watching him from the back of the room. Albus probably sent her, though it's just as likely that she came of her own free will. Either way, his lies weren't unnoticed. It isn't surprising, given the caliber of some of the Hogwarts professors. 

She heads towards the front of the room. She doesn't make a show of it, but her hand is hovering over where she has her wand is hidden.

He plops himself down into his chair.

She's standing in front of the desk now. He starts the device up, just to annoy her, and plays another round of Asteroids. “This little thing is called a Game Boy.” 

She peers down at it. “What does it do?”

He stares at the screen. If he wants to beat his highest score, he has to focus. But he's always been good at multitasking, and Minerva's a good woman. It wouldn't hurt to teach her how much he knows about Muggle stuff. “You can use it to play games. This one is called Asteroid. You're trying to hit the asteroids so they don't hurt your ship-”

One does exactly that.

He groans.

Confusion clouds her face. It's quite entertaining. She's incredibly bright, but her reliance on only magic has limited her ability to evaluate concepts that fall more within the sciences. “Is that a Muggle device?” she questioned. He nods. “But it shouldn't work here.”

He rests the Game Boy on the table.

“It's called science, Minerva.”

She furrows her brow. She certainly knows what it is, but he doubts she gets most basic concepts. Still, she's intrigued. He supposes that's a good sign. After an awkward moment passes, he gestures for her to pull up on of the chairs from the nearby row of desks. She does exactly that.

“My Game Boy runs on electricity. I'm sure you know what this is, seeing that it's what lights all of our houses. Electrical devices can have two purposes. They can work on their own, like with my Game Boy. Or they can have the purpose of connecting with other people. Think of a cellphone or a radio.”

He holds up a single finger. “But there's a problem – magic is tricky. It likes messy with electricity, especially in sole devices. The things that connect are part of a larger system. It's harder for magic to break that. But my little Game Boy? Magic wants to seep through it and mess around with the electrical current. I've done a little bit of research on it, and it seems that spells let out a little excess energy. It's not really surprising. Most energy transformations do that. Take one form of energy and convert it to another, and some stuff escapes as heat-”

He can tell that he's losing her, but he's stubborn as all hell. He wants to finish his explanation. Then he can let her go, and she can think of him as odd. Almost all of the staff already does, so, honestly? It won't be much of a let down. 

“Long story short, the shielding spell I use to protect my Game Boy has been designed to let its energy go outwards instead of inwards.” He holds up the gaming console in question. “So it's protected from any rogue bits of magic.”

It appears that she's just starting to grasp the concept. If they had talked for a little longer, she might have been able to full understand it. But though the words might have sounded like gibberish to her ears, there's a look in her eyes. It's not the look she gave him when he was in her classes and did something right; she had been proud of him then.

It's only when she speaks that he understands.

“You have a surprising amount of knowledge on Muggle things for a Pureblood,” she says, smiling. She gets to her feet and charms the chair back to its original place. “I must say I'm impressed – you never struck me as someone who would be interested in them.”

He brushes the comment off with a dismissive hand gesture, though he's secretly glad that she sees him in that light. He has to keep appearances. “I just thought their scientific concepts were intriguing; you would never expect how much they've accomplished with their inquiries and innovations.”

She starts to head to the door, only to turn around and give him one last look. “Sometimes, I think the Sorting Hat might get things wrong.”

He stares.

“You always seemed to fit your house when I had you as a student, but the past few days have shown me that you are quite the Ravenclaw.”

And then she's gone, robes swishing behind her as she turns out in the hallway. He's not sure if he wants to laugh or not. He is an actor at heart, and modeling the behaviors expected of him has always been easy. He will play whatever part is necessary to achieve his goal. And that, he supposes, is why the Sorting Hat had so few qualms about putting him in Slytherin during the first of their many meetings. He has his suspicions about what house would truly be his, but that will remain his secret.

He pockets the Game Boy and leaves the room.

It is time for the students to arrive at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of Alice's first chapter and Edward's first chapter, I was most excited to write his. It's such a shame that J.K. Rowling never went into more depth about the lives of the teachers at the school. The few HP fics I've read with teachers telling part of the story don't go much into the actual teaching part of their lives, and I wanted to do the opposite in my own story. Edward's qualms are taken from things I've observed my mom, who has been a teacher since before I was born, doing. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The majority of the following chapters should be from Alice's perspective, but it's not set in stone yet.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When Alice Quinn steps foot into Hogwarts, she is different than the girl who had left it more than a year before. Her tattoo lightly aches underneath the sleeves of her robe, and there is a hardened look to her eyes. She does not know the cause of either of these; she hopes no one asks. She is thinner and taller. It is not exactly an unhealthy thinness, and her stomach growls at the thought of the coming feast. 

And perhaps the most confounding change of all is that she is entering the school with other people.

She has always arrived on time for the start of the school year, but has never arrived with other people in the more complex sense of the word. Entering the school with a group suggests some sort of kinship. She did not have that in the years prior. But flanked by the likes of Ginny, Luna, Harry, Neville, Hermione and Ron, she finally feels as if she is among friends.

She is not sure if she can call them friends yet. They have only just truly met, and she knows so little of the people they are. But she likes the little she does know, especially after seeing how they dealt with Draco back in the compartment. 

They step into the Great Hall. Whispers have been following them the entire time. She suspects that it is because she is walking with the likes of Harry Potter. She vividly recalls him being the center of attention no matter where he was. She is ignorant of the doubt surrounding Voldemort's return, having been too busy studying the past to pay attention to the present.

She mutters a reluctant goodbye. What good is it to make friends when they don't share your house? Leaving the group – who have their own qualms about the missing Hagrid – she makes her way to the Slytherin table. There is a row of empty seats near Draco. She doesn't want anything to do with the likes of him, but it is also the best place to see the teachers. She silently sits down, placing her book beside her. There is always enough room at the tables, but she will move it if there is an influx of Slytherin first years. 

She looks around the table, curious to see the newer members of the house. Draco meets her eye. She narrows them into quite the successful glare, confidently holding his gaze. He looks away first. Hiding a smile, she turns to see who the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is for the year. The books needed for the class are basic, standard texts. Nothing too extreme, thankfully. She has enough of that as it is.

The teacher is sitting next to Professor Dumbledore. She is unfamiliar, but the seat is nothing new. The teachers that fill that position tend to sit near him. (She secretly thinks it is because they know they will likely only make it through one year, and wish to be protected by one of the strongest wizards in the school.) Something about her rubs Alice the wrong way. She doesn't know what.

Her gaze travels down the row of teachers as Professor Grubby-Planks takes what should have been Hagrid's spot. She feels a small knot of worry; Hagrid was always so nice to her, even though they rarely talked. She hopes he's just under the weather, but it's impossible to tell.

The Sorting Hat begins its song.

She listens to it with interest; she loves hearing the new versions every year. And a history lesson on the founding of the school is always appreciated.

_For were there such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

Strange. There's an extra seat at the head table – it extends a little farther to the sides than it has in the past. Is there a new teacher?

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale._

There he is, sitting right at the very end of the row. The face is so familiar that it almost doesn't register as new. It isn't, really. She has seen it many times before. It accompanies almost all of the flashbacks she has had. He is not paying attention to her. She doubts he even knows she is there. But sitting among the teachers is the man from the past she doesn't remember. 

The Sorting Hat finishes its song. She didn't pay attention to a single word after the moment she saw him. She tries the breathing exercises she's studied. In for three. Hold for four. Out for seven. But her heart is still hammering in her chest, and her palms are growing sweatier with every passing second.

The first years are sorted. She does, in fact, have to move her beloved book. But she barely takes notice; her gaze is solely focused on the teacher who shouldn't have ever become a teacher.

Professor Dumbledore begins his usual speech. She pinches herself in the desperate hope that this is just another nightmare. But it isn't, and she finally directs her attention to the center of the teachers' table. She listens like the responsible student she is, though none of the notices apply directly to her.

“We have had three three changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Lastly, we have-”

And then Professor Umbridge interrupts Professor Dumbledore.

“Hem, hem,” the woman in pink says. 

Silence.

Students and teachers alike are shocked. She briefly looks at the mysterious young professor farther down the table; the look on his face is absolutely murderous. Even McGonagoll's pursed lips do not compare. This professor is livid. And while she may not remember the extent of his actions from her missing year, she is certain that he is a force to be reckoned with. 

“Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome.”

Funny. Alice didn't find them welcoming in the slightest.

“Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!” She smiled. How could someone's teeth be that sharp? “And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!”

She's had teachers like this before, though they are little more than relics of her time attending Muggle schools. Teachers who underestimate the capabilities of their students. Even when shown otherwise, they still treat them as children. It was frustrating at the age of ten. It is infuriating at the age of sixteen.

“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!” 

Defense Against the Dark Arts is one of her favorite classes because of the content covered. Professor Lupin had been extraordinarily kind to her, writing her several passes to the restricted section of the library when she explained her research. She sadly doesn't think Professor Umbridge will treat her the same.

She continues speaking. Alice, as well as the other students, begin to grow bored. The speech is generic, and certainly not worth interrupting someone for. 

“...because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, wears others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices ought to be prohibited.”

Joy.

She wants to control the system. 

And it's when Alice realizes this that she also realizes she knows exactly who Professor Umbridge is; she's a member of the Ministry of Magic. If she's an extension of the government, it can only mean that they're trying to control what happens in Alice's beloved Hogwarts.

“Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating.” Professor Dumbledore bows a little, but the smile does not reach his eyes. “Now – as I was saying, we have one last addition to our staff.”

The other professor perks up a bit. The stormy look to his eyes is hidden behind a bright, shining smile, but unlike Professor Umbridge's. She didn't mean it, just as teaching is not her reason for being at the school. Oddly enough, this smile seems genuine. The professor wants to teach. 

Professor Dumbledore briefly looks down the table in the professor's direction before once again addressing the gathering of students. “Professor Blackwood will be teaching a new class, Summoning, that is mandatory for all students.”

Frantic whispers fill the Great Hall. Whether it is the content or the idea of a new class, they are not happy. Her hand instinctively goes for her tattoo, though she isn't quite sure why.

Someone – a Gryffindor – shouts, “But that's a Dark Art!”

Similar cries of protest follow.

The headmaster waits for them to quiet down.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but someone clears their throat from the end of the table. Professor Blackwood gives Professor Dumbledore a hopeful little look, as if he wants to follow in the other new teacher's footsteps and give a little speech.

The headmaster shockingly lets him do exactly that. 

“It is a Dark Art,” Professor Blackwood confirms. He gives the restless students another smile, warm and reassuring. “But that classification is old, and, as Professor Umbridge said in her _lovely speech_ , sometimes change can be good.”

_“So you kidnapped me to join your cult,” she surmises._

_He laughs. It's a cruel, cold sound that makes her shudder. She does not like it. “To put it simply, yes. Though I had nothing to do with your kidnapping, that is the reason for why you're here.” She does not know where she is, but she accepts the poor excuse for the explanation._

_“So what exactly does your cult do, Edward?”_

_He gives her a maniacal grin. "We do some of the darkest magic in the entire world, Miss Alice. We both betray God and enslave another race at the same exact time. Don't you want a taste of that power?”_

She jolts back into reality.

The hand gripping her tattoo tightens its grip as Professor Dumbledore continues speaking. How could the headmaster be so accepting of someone so morally corrupt? Some of the other Slytherins are giddy with glee at the thought of trying something technically forbidden, but all she can think about his obvious lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! I've been waiting to have Alice realize the man from her flashbacks is one of her new teachers, and the future chapters should be just as entertaining as this one was for me as the writer. Hopefully you also found it enjoyable?


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

For once in her life, Alice is glad that the majority of her classes are shared with Gryffindor. Her friends, if she can call them that after knowing them for such a short period of time, are the only people she truly talks to. She sits with them every opportunity she gets. With Ron and Harry joined at the hip, Hermione finds herself the sole recipient of Alice's amicable attitude. She eagerly sits beside in the Gryffindor in every class they share. 

The work is difficult, but being near Hermione has its benefits. The other girl is glad to help her with the more advanced spells, ones that she would have had trouble with no matter what year she had taken the class. Preparing for O.W.L.s seems to be a reoccurring theme. The only break in the dull, repeating first days of classes is in Professor Umbridge's class – Harry manages to land himself a detention for saying what they all know to be the truth.

But, save for that, they fall into a steady rhythm. Hermione and Alice race to finish their work first; they tend to be the first to master the new concepts. Alice tells her of her research, and Hermione tells her of her desire to help the house elves. While they may not see eye-to-eye on every aspect on their individual projects, they come to an agreement to support the other. 

Alice debates sneaking over to the Gryffindor table during meals. As it's only three days into the school year, she ultimately decides not to. It is only the third day of school. The teachers will be strict. Once the year progresses far enough, that will change. It's then that she'll leave Draco and his gang of Purebloods behind. She's avoided them to the best of her ability, spending the majority of her free time in the library or with her newfound friends.

But even this school year isn't perfect.

It is almost time for Summoning. Hermione and her spent the previous afternoon studying the subject in the library, but there's not much on it in the books that were available without special permissions. Something about calling forth demons from other worlds, and harnessing their magic. Neither one like it, especially when Alice notices that the pentacle used in the summonings looks eerily similar to the simplified one underneath her sleeve.

The four leave Care of Magical Creatures together. Draco was unsurprisingly an asshole, but something about the encounter with him rubs her the wrong way. Harry's got his hand wrapped in one of Hermione's handkerchiefs after getting swiped at by a bowtruckle. The sight of blood should faze her – it had in the past – but it doesn't. 

“If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time...” Harry says, gritting his teeth. 

“Harry, don't go picking a row with Malfoy,” Hermione tries to argue, but Alice guesses that Harry's already turned off to the idea. “Don't forget, he's a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you...” 

“Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?”

Alice is torn between mirroring Hermione's disappointed frown or Ron's laughter, settling with a strange little smirk instead. She relates more to Harry's comment than she's letting on. They both have difficult lives, though his stems from stupidity from the people around him and hers from the teacher she's about to face. 

She glances back. Draco and his gang are tailing behind them, as they all have Summoning next. She gives him another silent glare before turning back to her friends. “If it makes you feel better, Harry,” she whispers, “I can get back at him for you.”

“ _Alice!_ " Hermione hisses.

She smiles. “He'd never take points from his house, if I do get caught – I don't think he'd ever see it coming!” The thought greatly amuses Ron, who gives her a thumbs up in support of the plan.

Their conversation eventually switches into one about homework. They're all swamped with it, and they're certain several late night sessions are in their future. Soon Harry and Ron are theorizing how much homework Professor Blackwood is going to assign on their first day of class, and Alice's hand goes for the tattoo. Hermione raises an eyebrow at the gesture, but doesn't press it. 

She'll explain it, eventually. 

**~v~**

The classroom is already quite full when they arrive. There are some open seats at the front of the room, which only Hermione eagerly takes. Alice slides into the seat besides her, and the boys sit at the next table over. Professor Blackwood, who had been readying a large stack of parchment, pauses when he notices the four new arrivals. He naturally stares at Harry Potter, but his eyes linger the longest on her. 

He pales.

But then he regains his composure, and pulls out a wand from the depths of his robe. He gives the blackboard a little tap. White letters appear, eerily similar to the start of Professor's Umbridge's first lesson. But while hers had been a list of course aims, the words that appear are only his name and course.

_Professor Edward H. Blackwood_

_Summoning_

He rests his wand on his desk.

“Hello, everyone,” he says with a warm smile.

Silence.

He's still smiling, though it's become one of amusement. There's a chair right behind his desk, but he chooses to sit on the desk's surface instead. “Seeing that you're all fifth years, I suspect that you've been given a speech about your O.W.L.s in every class before this one. Don't worry – I've been there too, and I'm not going to bore you with that. Let's start with an icebreaker, alright? We'll all introduce ourselves, and then say a random fact about ourselves.”

He's met with another round of silence. No one is quite sure how to deal with him, especially after their previous encounters with new teachers.

“I'll start. My name is Edward H. Blackwood, and I was a Slytherin when I came through this school.” He thinks for a moment. Raising a finger, he points at Neville – who is sitting on the other side of the room in the front row. “Do you want to go next?”

Neville looks terrified, but something oddly compels him to speak. “I'm Neville Longbottom and...I...um...”

Professor Blackwood gives him a reassuring smile.

“...Herbology is my favorite class.”

Draco and his gang mutter mean comments underneath their breath. Alice turns around and glares at them. She's not sure what the comments are, but they are certainly insulting Neville.

Professor Blackwood positively beaming now. “Perfect, Neville! Ten points to Gryffindor.” Then he looks over at Draco, who is still chattering away with Crabbe and Goyle. “And ten points from Slytherin – I don't allow bullying in my classroom, Draco.” 

Another silence falls upon the students of the classroom. For Draco's friends and mindless followers, they are deeply offended. For the rest of the class, they are grateful that somehow has finally put him in his place. Then Professor Blackwood continues the activity, Draco fuming the entire time. It's perhaps one of the most wonderful things she has seen in the past few days.

The activity comes to a close, and Professor Blackwood returns to his desk. He regards them all with a certain little glint to his eyes. A smile is dancing across his lips as he charms the pile of parchments over to their desks. A few students open them, but the majority keep their eyes on the professor. Alice and Hermione both fall into the latter category.

“Lectures are no fun, so we'll do this. Tell me what you know of Summoning, and I'll add whatever I need to.” He searches the room for any raised hands, quickly calling on Hermione when she puts hers up. 

Alice is impressed by how quickly he notices her hand. 

“It's a Dark Art where you summon demons from another world,” Hermione explains in a single breath. While she sought validation in the previous classes they shared, she is not looking for praise now. “You summon them through a pentacle.”

The words Hermione spoke appear on the board with the flick of Professor Blackwood's wand. “Anyone else?” he questions. No one raises their hands. Alice might have if Hermione didn't cover the limited knowledge she had.

“That's great for a start, Hermione! Ten points to Gryffindor for that background research; I'm assuming that's the best you could find outside of the Restricted Section?” 

Hermione hesitantly nods.

He flicks his wand another time. _Demon_ and _another world_ both disappear from the blackboard, being replaced by _Spirit_ and _Other Place_. “Hermione's covered the basic idea, but I just want to clear up a few terms. Just as you won't call a Muggleborn a Mudblood, we won't be calling spirits demons. It's highly derogatory to the majority of them. And they come from a realm we call the Other Place. We'll get more into the logistics of how it works later on in the year. By the way, you can open your parchment now if you haven't already.”

They do exactly that.

A pentacle stares back at Alice. She gulps, eyes briefly wandering to her arm. But then her attention is back on the teacher, as she desperately needs some understanding of what happened during the year she doesn't remember.

“That's what your basic pentacle looks like. We're going to work on drawing them for the next few classes, as they're perhaps one of the most important things needed to summon spirits.” He taps the blackboard, and an identical pentacle appears on it. “This is what ties them to our world. Consider it a gateway of sorts. When we bring them here, we do so with words of summoning.”

A paragraph of Latin appears on the board beside a similarly long paragraph of English.

“They tend to be in old languages, but I have a simplified version in English for us to use instead. While the pentacle is the gateway, our words are what calls them and keeps them here. I know this is confusing for the beginner, but don't fret – by next class, I should have a vocabulary list ready.”

They spend the rest of class drawing pentacles on scraps of parchment. Professor Blackwood lets them do as they please during the time, though he does wander among the students to observe their progress. 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Alice push their desks together and chat about the new subject as they work. It's tedious but easy. Compared to their other classes, it's a nice change. “Does anything seem odd about this class?” Alice whispers, casting a glance back at Professor Blackwood. He's in the middle of critiquing Draco's newest pentacle. “Like something's not right?”

“We are learning a Dark Art,” Hermione points out. 

“Blackwood was in Slytherin,” Ron muses, crossing his arms as he stares down at his pentacle. He's only drawn one, but there's a surprising amount of precision to it. “So that would explain it.”

Hermione mirrors his gesture. “What I don't understand is how Dumbledore let him teach here! Honestly, he should have been thrown out the moment it was suggested.” She furiously draws the outline for the next pentacle.

Alice glances over Harry. He's been oddly quiet the entire conversation, and his pentacles lack the detail of the original. He's distracted, but by what? She looks behind her. Professor Blackwood is making his way down the aisles of desks to where they are. It's a good time for a switch in topic; she's sure he's close enough to hear them.

“What's wrong, Harry?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Just thinking about the detention with Umbridge.”

She frowns. 

“I bet the Ministry is trying to ignore it because they don't want to face the facts – if he's back, then they actually have to do something.” With a little extra bit of force, she finishes her newest pentacle. It pisses her off. “I wonder how Fudge sleeps at night-”

“Your pentacle looks perfect, Alice. You've got a knack for it.”

She nearly jumps at the sound of Professor Blackwood's voice. He's standing right behind her and Hermione, observing the four's pentacles. He doesn't say anything else to her. He's too busy looking at the other pieces of parchment. The others are each given praise for whatever work they've done, though Ron seems to be his favorite out of the three.

But Alice continues to think about their brief interaction; how his voice was so emotionless, and how he barely spared her parchment a glance. 

And when class ends – their only homework being to draw another pentacle – she still can't shake the feeling that something else was at play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter! I love writing Alice's interactions with the Golden Trio. Hermione is especially fun to write; both of them share a love of a knowledge and their opinions would probably overlap on the majority of topics. I also wanted to show them bonding over Hermione's project with the house elves. I think something like that works well with the aspect of this story that focuses on spirits, though I haven't gone too much into that yet. And Edward's a joy to write when he's teaching. His teaching style is a little unconventional, but I think I'd enjoy having a teacher like him.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Something is wrong with Harry. This is something she is not told or not even acknowledged by Harry himself, but his suffering is as clear as can be for her. He is behind on his homework, and he's rarely in the Great Hall. When she does see him in class, he seems almost a bit nervous to use his quill, glancing down at his hand before putting the tip to his paper. The action is minor, and she is certain that Hermione and Ron have missed it exactly because of that. But she has been hiding her own secret for quite some time; his equally subtle attempts to hide whatever secret he is now carrying is quite obvious.

But she won't press it. Not now, at least. She suspects that the detention with Professor Umbridge is at fault, but Harry hasn't mentioned more than just having to do lines. When he feels ready to, she'll be a good listener. At the moment, she will remain a concerned bystander, one who understands exactly what it is like to be pressured into opening up.

Ron's also been tired and behind on his homework, but she doesn't view it in the same light. Harry has the more sinister secret of the two. That much she is certain of. The week passes by with no change from either one of them. It's only on Friday that she understands why Ron has been so tired; she passes by the Quidditch field and sees him at Gryffindor's tryouts. Some of his housemates try getting her to leave, but she stubbornly stays through the whole thing and cheers him on as loud as she possibly can.

She doesn't follow him back to the Gryffindor common room, of course. That would be going a step too far. (Although she'd love to be invited to join them there someday – not hated by the majority of them, and welcomed with open arms. A stupid little wish that will never become a reality.) She gives him a word of congratulations and goes back to her own common room. 

While she may not like the majority of her fellow Slytherins, there's something comforting about the actual dungeons. She loves the way that the windows are tinted green from the lake that surrounds them, and how the arrangement of furniture makes it quite cozy. 

She grabs her book from her belongings and returns to the common room. Finding an empty chair near the fire, she begins to read from where she left off. The history of the Killing Curse is vague, but, if she wants to understand how to stop it, she needs to understand its creation. Whoever created it once went to Hogwarts, and did so many years before Voldemort (who had to have been a student) walked its halls. 

That's when the history diverges. Are they a Ravenclaw, or a Slytherin? The writer of the book is quite fond of the Slytherin theory, but she's less certain. Ravenclaws would have spent hours studying spell creation to make the perfectly concocted murder; a Slytherin would have just bought a gun and shot the guy. 

In the end, minor details like that don't really matter. But there's a certain thrill she gets when she tries to figure out the missing pieces of the curse's puzzling past. Even if won't help her get anywhere, it's a good distraction and perfect way to pass the time.

But, despite her best efforts, her mind keeps returning to Summoning. They don't have another class until after the weekend. This is something she's secretly quite grateful for, though she's heard some of her fellow Slytherins lament the lack of classes. Professor Blackwood is a good teacher. She can't deny that. Still, good teaching doesn't mean that he's a good person. Professor Moody was supposedly a popular teacher last year and he turned out to be a Death Eater in disguise.

Now that she's no longer focusing on the book, her attention shifts to the people moving about in the rest of the common room. She can hear Draco talking to his friends; his voice is perhaps louder than the rest. But he's not berating any of his fellow Slytherins, nor is he making snide comments about other students. He's talking about homework. How there's so much (she agrees) and how he just wishes they would lay off in their first week (she also agrees). His friends sorrowfully agree. It's at times like this, away from the general school population, that he actually sounds like a normal kid.

It doesn't suddenly make him a better person. He's still an asshole, and she's still trying to come up with her revenge. It just serves as a reminder that things are not always black and white.

She closes the book.

**~v~**

It's a bright and shining Saturday morning, and Alice is quite eager for the day to begin. She rushes out of bed, hurrying down to the Great Hall for a quick breakfast with her beloved book in tow. Even seeing Professor Blackwood at the teacher's table doesn't dampen her spirits. She is ready to fall back into her old habit of spending her free time reading on the grounds.

Then she runs into Hermione as she's leaving the Great Hall.

The Gryffindor girl looks quite frustrated. She's glowering at the two figures receding into the distance, who Alice suspects are Harry and Ron. She looks at them once before turning her attention back to the girl beside her. 

“Hey, Hermione,” Alice says.

She turns her attention away, the look on her face momentarily softening when she sees who is talking to her. “Hi, Alice,” Hermione replies. There's a tired tone to her voice. Alice glances back in the direction her other friends went. What could they have possibly done for Hermione to be in a mood like this?

They start to walk away from the Great Hall. “What's wrong?” Alice asks. And then, as an afterthought, “If you want to talk about it.”

Hermione's shoulders sag. “It's nothing, really.”

Her eyes are growing moist. If she wasn't in such a mood and didn't have such a look on her face, Alice might not have continued the conversation. But she looks absolutely miserable, and a good friend would be stubborn and not leave her alone.

“Does it have to do with Harry and Ron?”

A reluctant nod.

Neither really have a destination in mind, but she somehow ends up bringing Hermione out into the castle's grounds. Alice takes her to one of her favorite spots, an old tree near the lake, and Hermione doesn't seem to mind. They sit there for a bit. Alice places the book next to her, and stares off into the water. She waits for Hermione to say something.

And, after several minutes, she does.

“Harry and Ron wanted to practice Quidditch. Ron's a keeper now, if you haven't heard.” Alice looks back over at her. “I wanted to work on our homework together like we usually do – both have been so busy lately, Ron with his Quidditch tryouts and Harry with his detentions. We haven't had a good opportunity to just _talk_.”

She holds her head in her hands. Compared to the state she was in when they first started talking, it's a significant improvement. Alice gives her a hesitant but reassuring pat on the shoulder. “And I wanted to tell them that, but I was stupid and frustrated and I told them they couldn't copy off of me anymore and that they would fail their O.W.L.s! And whenever we have arguments, they always end like that. I think they see it as me wanting to only focus on school. School is important, of course. But it's not as important as spending time with them.”

The past few days have made her realized how loosely connected the three infamous friends could truly be; how Harry and Ron are joined at the hip, and how Hermione struggles with being the third wheel. With Ron and Harry both sharing Quidditch practices, she'll have lost the opportunity to spend that time with Ron.

“Hm,” Alice says. She's not sure how useful advice can be from someone who hasn't had close friends since before Hogwarts, but she wants to try anyways. “I think you should tell them how you feel, Hermione. Avoiding your problems is only going to make them worse.”

She nods. “I suppose so,” Hermione muses, more to herself than to Alice. “But they'll be at Quidditch practice for the entirety of today, and I only really enjoy doing homework when there's someone to talk to-”

Alice and Hermione slowly look at each other.

“The library should be open,” Alice says, with an eagerness she has never associated with homework prior to this point. It's an electric sort of excitement, and she hurries to her feet. “I can go get my stuff and meet you there.”

Hermione smiles. “That sounds wonderful.” 

**~v~**

As promised, they meet in the library. Their arms are laden with countless pieces of parchment and many textbooks, though the library has spares for a few of the classes at Hogwarts. The library is mostly empty. Few students linger among the shelves and tables, having left for the school grounds in droves. Hermione and Alice eagerly find an empty table. Their assignments and books take up the majority of the space, and they have to cram their parchment in between the towering piles of homework.

But she doesn't mind.

They're talking about everything other than themselves when Hermione offhandedly mentions that her parents are dentists. And suddenly Alice feels like she's found a long lost sister – the girl she's sitting beside is a Muggleborn, just like her. “I don't remember my parents,” Alice says, breathlessly, “but they were Muggles, too.”

“Were?” Hermione asks.

“They died in a car crash when I was a baby,” she explains. It doesn't hurt to talk about them, really. What hurts is thinking about the life she could have lived with them, compared to years questioning her place in the world. “When Professor McGonagoll first came to talk to the man who runs the orphanage I live in, she told me that I was the first in my family to be magical. But I feel as much of an outcast here as I did at the orphanage.”

Hermione puts down her quill. “I feel that way whenever I hear Ron talk about all the things he did growing up,” she admits. “The longer I'm in the magical world, the easier it is to deal with it. But first year was terrible. Everyone was always bragging about how much they had already learned, and the school year had barely started.”

She nods, having felt the same way ever since she learned of her magical heritage. It's been a cycle of longing and belonging. She's never quite content with where she is, especially when she sees the Purebloods in her house holding themselves high above wizards like her.

“I spent the rest of the summer before my first year reading about magic,” she reminisces. She has never read as many books during the summer as she did then. “I felt so behind, and the year hadn't even begun!”

She looks over at Hermione. She's smiling, but it's a bitter kind of smile; Alice knows immediately that Hermione did exactly the same that she did. Even though they are separated by age and house and have known each other for less than a week, Alice knows she has found a kindred spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter! Hermione and Alice's friendship is one of my favorite friendships I've ever written, and I think it's given me a great opportunity to learn more about Hermione as a character. It's only when I'm trying to find moments for her to be alone with Alice that I realize how much of a third wheel she could be when around Harry and Ron; it's not really their fault, but it is a shame that she never makes another friend like them over the course of the series.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Her temporary moment of triumphant is lost as a certain teacher emerges, hair surprisingly disheveled, from among the Restricted Section of the library. Professor Blackwood's arms are laden with countless books, their titles of no interest to her. She stiffens. When he notices her, he does the same. They stare at each other. Neither speaks, and both keep their faces emotionless. She's trying not to show her fear, but it must be painfully obvious to him.

Pointing at the last sentence on her essay with the tip of her quill, Hermione loudly asks, “Does this look good to you, Alice? Something about the grammar seems off, but I can't put my finger on what.”

The trance is broken.

She looks down at the essay, grateful for the excuse to ignore the professor. He hurries on by them. Though he appears to be struggling to carry all of the books, she remains where she is under the pretense that Hermione still needs her help. She continues to watch him out of the corner of eye. It takes him several minutes to leave – he's surprisingly chatty with Madam Pince – but he finally exits the library.

Alice slumps down in her chair, a sigh escaping her lips.

Hermione gives her a worried look.

She absentmindedly grabs onto the arm with the tattoo. And it is this action, rather than the peculiar encounter with Professor Blackwood, that appears to prompt Hermione into action. “Alice, what are you hiding underneath your sleeve?”

“I don't know what you're-”

The Gryffindor girl raises an eyebrow.

Alice sighs again, though it is now one of defeat. If only Hermione could have waited until she had some understanding of it herself; how could she properly explain it when she knew so little? But there's no point in hiding it anymore. She looks around. When she sees that no one is paying attention to them, she rolls up her sleeve.

The black tattoo is inscribed into her skin. The design is surprisingly detailed, with more runes than the one they had seen in class several days prior. Hermione silently studies this. She traces each line with her eyes, only looking up when the entire tattoo has been observed. 

“I thought that you might have the Dark Mark,” she whispers, confusion and shock written across her face. “I never thought you were a Death Eater, but it's in the same place, isn't it?”

She's not sure. She settles for a shrug, but she can see the implications of her previous actions. No wonder a handful of people have seemed nervous around her since her return; anyone knowledgeable about Voldemort's supporters would waste no time in putting her hidden arm and her house together. 

“How did you get it?” Hermione quietly asks. There's a hesitation to it, almost as if she's worried Alice will get upset with her for prying.

She looks down at the tattoo. “I'm sure Harry told you and Ron, but I wasn't in school last year,” she says. “I woke up in St. Mungo's at the end of last year – my memories of the past year were gone. They found me at the entrance with this tattoo on my arm. No matter what I try, it doesn't come off.”

“Like the Dark Mark,” her friend mutters.

Alice manages a nod.

Raising her head, Hermione looks off towards the entrance of the library. A sole student – Hufflepuff, from the tie – enters with a book and a roll of parchment. “Is that why you don't trust Professor Blackwood? Because he reminds you of that year?”

“I get flashes,” she says with a shake of the head. She falls silent as the Hufflepuff passes, resuming the conversation when she's sure he is too far away to hear what they are discussing. She taps her forehead with her pointer finger. “The staff at St. Mungo's said it was my memories trying to return. The majority of them, I'm not alone. Professor Blackwood's there, Hermione. And he's not like he is now. He's _different_. He was with whoever kidnapped me, and when I was there he forced me to learn about demons. I think-I think I did some horrible things, Hermione. And even if I don't remember what they were, I know he was the one who guided me through them.” 

Hermione is silent. She draws her attention away from the entrance to the library and back to Alice, who has paled in the short time she was looking away. She doesn't like thinking of the things she must have done then. Remembering the interactions between her and Professor Blackwood is enough.

“Did you see the titles of those books?” Hermione questions.

Alice shakes her head. “Was it something...evil?”

“No.” Hermione looks back at the exit. “They were books on memory spells – I think he wants you to remember whatever you forgot, Alice.”

_She's straining her memory, trying to remember why his face is so familiar. She's seen it somewhere in the past. If only she could remember! Trapped in this little room, torturing herself over her frustrating lack of knowledge is the only thing she can do._

_She paces around her far too comfortable bed. An image conjures itself from the depths of her memory. He was in a wizarding newspaper, his print self grinning from behind a group of people. She struggles to remember their faces. One of the boys had looked surprisingly liked Draco, hadn't he? It couldn't have been that Malfoy, though, as she would have seen Edward wandering the grounds at some point._

_Was it his father?_

She sits up with a jolt. Hermione appears startled, but Alice quickly calms any concerns she might have had. “I just had a flash,” she says, wildly looking around. There should be several shelves of old newspapers somewhere in here – she had looked through their contents when trying to study the dark wizards of the past. “He's been here, Hermione! I just need to figure out _when_.”

“He _was_ a student,” Hermione says. “He said so himself on the first day of class. He was a Slytherin.”

Spotting her target, she rushes to her feet. She darts from one side of the library to the other. Hermione hurries on behind her, not quite sure what has enchanted the older girl. Alice scans the shelves. Twenty years ago should be enough. Somewhere around 1975, if she wants to find the time that Edward H. Blackwood last attended Hogwarts.

“Hermione,” she hisses, “look before the 1970s.”

“But he can't be that old, can he?”

She shakes her head. “I know I've seen his face back then.”

Hermione does as she says, though Alice knows she doesn't believe her. It doesn't matter. When she finds the newspaper articles she was thinking of, Alice will be proved right. They dig through the newspapers for the next ten minutes. She utters a soft, triumphant cry when she finds the one she recalled in the flashback.

There Edward H. Blackwood is, peeking out from behind a row of Slytherins who would become Death Eaters when they left Hogwarts only several years later. He's giving the camera a stupid grin, and even pulling several goofy faces at the other occupants of the photo. 

She turns to show Hermione her find.

And Hermione is holding a newspaper, too.

Professor Blackwood is peeking out from behind another group of Slytherins. She doesn't recognize the faces, but Hermione quickly points out a prefect in the center. “That's Tom Riddle,” she whispers. “He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named before he became the Dark Lord.”

The year is 1943, and Edward H. Blackwood looks as old as he does decades later.

Hermione grabs two more newspapers from the ground beside her. One shows Professor Blackwood peeking out from behind a very young yet talented (as the newspaper remarks) Albus Dumbledore and a group of Gryffindors, though he is still wearing a Slytherin tie. The other newspaper shows him in a different environment, several years later. The focus is on Bathilda Bagshot, but three boys can be seen just out of view. One is Professor Dumbledore. Another is, shockingly, Gellert Grindelwald.

And the last is Professor Blackwood.

They return the newspapers to their rightful places and silently return to the table. They sit. Then they stare at each other, unsure of how to proceed after such a major discovery.

“He's absolutely ancient,” Hermione whispers. “Do you think he's found a way to be immortal? It couldn't be the Philosopher's Stone, could it? He would need it now, but it's been destroyed...”

Alice takes a deep breath. “Did you notice that he was with dark wizards in every photo we found?” 

She instinctively grabs onto her arm.

“We should tell him,” Hermione says.

Her eyes widen at the suggestion.

“Dumbledore,” Hermione clarifies. “If he knows what Blackwood is capable of, he wouldn't possibly let him teach here-”

She shakes her head. “I don't think that would help. Did you see who they were with in that last newspaper? They were with _Grindelwald_. One of the most horrible dark wizards of all time, save for Voldemort.”

Hermione keeps her voice low, in an attempt to avoid drawing the librarian's attention. The few other students seated at the nearby tables are too absorbed in their homework to care. “But according to historical accounts, Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in a duel. He must have been getting information on him-”

“Hermione, the three of them were acting like close friends. And that wouldn't have been long before Grindelwald began to rise to power.” She sighs. “I want help, but Professor Blackwood has the headmaster under his thumb. They were friends. And you know how much you'd be willing to do for your friends.”

Hermione's shoulders sag in defeat. “We should tell Harry and Ron, at least. They need to know.”

She reluctantly nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot thickens! I've been very excited to start revealing some details of Edward's past, and this is the first step towards learning more about who he is. I hope you won't be disappointed.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

There are some things that her friends are dealing with that she can't even begin to comprehend. She knows nothing of what transpired in Harry's detentions with Umbridge. She knows little of the Weasley family conflict regarding Percy. She would never dream that they know where Sirius Black is and that he is, in fact, being hidden away among the resurrected Order of the Phoenix. She can't know that Hermione asked him for information about Edward H. Blackwood when his face appeared in the fire of the Gryffindor Common Room after explaining the situation to Harry and Ron, or that Sirius, when he heard that he had become Professor Blackwood, had never had such an aghast look on his face. 

But there's a tenseness in the air when they arrive in the Great Hall on Monday morning, and the revelation that Professor Umbridge is now the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts only makes things worse. 

Then they have potions with Professor Snape first period. And if Alice hadn't been about to blow a fuse _before_ the class, she is about to explode by the time that it ends. He doesn't teach. He just assigns new potions to make and reprimands anyone who fails to do so. Compared to people like Professor McGonagoll – hell, even Professor Blackwood! – he's a horrible excuse for a teacher. Professor Umbridge's class is as terrible as it was the previous time, and Harry somehow manages to land himself another week of detentions. She suspects that she might be joining him soon if the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher doesn't learn how to be a decent human being in the near future. 

She's so frustrated with the state of everything that she can barely get her homework down that night; she keeps crumpling parchments up and throwing them in the fire when her essays are less than subpar. The other Slytherins wisely avoid her in the common room, but that does little to help. To make matters worse, tomorrow is a day when they have Summoning right after lunch. It is the recipe for a horrible, horrible week. 

**~v~**

Harry's hand is bleeding. He can see the blood rushing to the surface of the wound out of the corner of his eye, but there is little he can do to stop it. He suspects that it will only get worse as the week goes on. Umbridge only cares about her agenda. If he was dying on her floor from a deadly injury, she would likely say he deserved it for spreading lies about Voldemort's return.

He hurries down the corridors. He's desperate to leave the night's detention behind him; the sooner the week of them is over, the better. But there is far too much distance between the classroom and Gryffindor tower, and it'll take another ten minutes if he rushes back. Walking at a normal pace will take even longer. He lets out a frustrated groan. It's so late, and he still has so much homework left! He's never going to finish it all tonight.

“Harry?”

He turns. Blackwood is standing in the entrance to his classroom, his hands oddly covered in black stains as he rests one arm against the door frame. Harry instinctively hides his hand behind his back. Hermione's comments about him resurface from the depths of his memory. He is entering dangerous territory, but ignoring Blackwood will only result in the professor growing suspicious.

“Hi, Professor,” he simply says. His scar isn't hurting, so it doesn't seem like Blackwood still has ties to Voldemort. But what is hurting is his hand, and he bites his lip in a poor attempt to ignore the searing pain. 

Blackwood walks over to him. “Where did just come from?”

He's eyeing where Harry's hand is.

Harry straightens and tries to look as if he has nothing to hide. It is far from an easy task; he can feel droplets of blood rolling off of his hand and falling to the floor. “Detention with Professor Umbridge, sir.”

Blackwood glances down the hallway, an absolutely dark look on his face as he digests what Harry just said. Then he's smiling and gesturing for Harry to follow him into his classroom. He wants to scream at his poor luck. The last thing he needs is for Blackwood to take an interest in him, especially when there's still a mountain of homework waiting for him back in the common room!

He stops by his desk.

Harry reluctantly enters the room and joins him there.

“Harry, could you please take out your wand?”

He's holding his hands out in front of him. Harry does as asked, though he isn't sure why something like that is needed. Blackwood tells him a simple hand cleaning spell, and then asks him to use it. He once again follows what he says.

Now that his hands are clean, the professor retrieves his wand from the depths of his robe. “I know your hand is bleeding,” he says. He points at where Harry is trying to hide his hand. “I think I know the right healing spell to stop the blood from flowing, but I just need to see your hand for a moment.”

His shoulders slump, and he shows the professor his hand.

Blackwood examines it. He mutters a spell and taps it with the tip of his wand. To Harry's immense relief, the blood flow immediately stops and the letters start to heal up. He looks back up from the injury at the professor. There's still a smile on his face, but a much more distant look to his eyes – almost as if he's trying to calculate something.

“Do you have detention with Professor Umbridge for the rest of the week?” he asks, his attention returning to the boy in front of him. Harry manages a slight nod. “You weren't focusing much last class, were you?” 

The shift in the conversation is confusing, but he nods once more. 

There is the situation with Alice, and he is certain that Blackwood is up to something at the wizarding school. But there was no need for him to help with his hand. Blackwood must have done it out of the kindness of his heart. Seeing that kindness makes him feel guilty about not paying attention more, though it was justified. 

Blackwood crosses his arms. “And I'd say that's a good reason for a detention, right?”

His heart sinks. Angelina is going to kill him for missing even more Quidditch practices for detention, though detention with Blackwood would hopefully be better than detention with Umbridge. 

“I suppose so, sir,” he mutters.

“And I've been so busy the past couple of days,” Blackwood muses, beginning to pace in front of his desk with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I mean, tonight I spent hours working on that little project in my office. So, theoretically, I could have given you detention when we last had class and been unable to have it prior to tomorrow.”

Harry manages another nod.

He stops in front of him. “And you completely forgot about our detention tomorrow, correct? Professor Umbridge has been making you do the same thing for the entirety of your detention, and that isn't very good for the sake of progress. I think she'll be open to more _experimental_ approaches to punishment, if I present our case well enough to her.”

Harry perks up. With everything they know about Blackwood, it seems impossible that he would go against another teacher. In fact, he must have been breaking countless rules. But he's still giving Harry that big grin and an exaggerated wink, and Harry realizes that he's just found his savior.

“What will we be doing, Professor?” he questions.

Blackwood shrugs. “Things that will actually help you someday, I suppose. I've been working on a surprise in my office the past few days, and I think it will be a great place for us to start tomorrow night. I'll let you know in class tomorrow if Professor Umbridge agrees.” His smile grows even larger. “I can be quite persuasive when I want to be.”

When Blackwood says nothing else, he starts to head for the door. Then he turns. The professor is watching him leave; for a brief second, there is a look of regret on his face. But then it is gone, and he is giving him that same smile from before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I didn't think I would have enough time to write it and update the story this morning, but apparently I'm faster at writing than I thought I was. The scene with Harry and Blackwood is something I've been very excited to write, though it wasn't entirely my idea. It was thanks to talking with my wonderful friend Luna about Blackwood's antics that I came up with the idea, so thank you for that!


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

“He did _what_?”

They're walking through the entrance to the Great Hall, the two boys and Alice trying to shake off the last groggy clutches of sleep. They're supposed to be heading to Charms. If Alice had been present at their table only minutes before, she would have seen Harry and Hermione erupt into an argument over Professor Umbridge. But Harry has put aside aside his frustration, and has chosen to tell them of the night before.

Harry looks over at Hermione. “He gave me detention.”

“Mate, that's horrible!” Ron exclaims, casting a worried glance back in the direction of the Gryffindor table. “Angelina is going to murder you for missing more practice!”

Hermione is aghast at the information. “But you haven't done anything wrong, Harry! You were just walking back from your detention with Umbridge!”

“What an as-” Alice starts, only to be cut off by Harry raising his hand. She falls quiet. She's fuming, but, if Harry needs them to stop yelling, she has to do exactly that.

They walk silently until they are out of earshot of any staff members. Harry's green eyes scan the surrounding area. He takes so long to do so that Alice almost starts a new conversation to pass the time, but there is no need. By the time she comes to that decision, he is just about to speak.

“He's giving me detention instead of Umbridge,” Harry says, keeping his voice low. They slow their pace down as they approach the charms classroom. There's still plenty of time before class will begin, and they are all intrigued. “He saw my hand – he looked like he was going to murder someone after I told him I was in detention with Umbridge. Then he brought me into his office, healed up my hand, and told me he was going to give me detention for the rest of the week if Umbridge let him.”

“Hand?” Alice asks. Ron and Hermione exchange guilty looks; it appears she is the only one who was left in the dark about Harry's apparent injury.

Harry shows her the scars.

 _I must not tell lies,_ his hand says. And if Alice had hated Professor Umbridge prior to this moment, she now despises her with a passion unlike no other. It is one thing to be a horrible person towards your students and fail at being a good teacher; a person like that deserves the hatred she saves for Professor Snape. But it is another thing altogether to physically harm students in an effort to punish them for differing views.

“She's a monster,” she says, “an absolute monster! I can't believe she can get away with something like that. It should be illegal, shouldn't it?”

Ron shrugs. “It should be, but that's not going to stop that toad.”

“And if someone did complain,” Hermione says gloomily, staring down at the ground, “I'm sure Umbridge would pass another Decree saying that any staff member who complains about the High Inquisitor would be fired.” 

None of them are able to cheer up for the entire Charms class.

**~v~**

Seeing Professor McGonagoll coolly deal with Professor Umbridge brings a rare burst of joy to all of them; she's the type of teacher whose occasional snark and sass makes it all the more appreciated. But any happiness is dashed when they arrived to Care of Magical Creatures. They're all disheartened to see that Hagrid isn't back – Alice never knew him as well as the others, but he's the sort of teacher who says hello to even the quietest of students – and even more heartbroken when they see Professor Umbridge standing beside Professor Grubbly-Plank.

Alice knows she should be focusing on the bowtruckles they're trying to care for, but her attention stubbornly wanders back to the conversation between the two teachers. The questions are basic stuff, though she does note a few ones about the missing Hagrid. And then she turns to the students, and Alice knows this is her chance.

“Now I hear there have been injuries in this class?” 

“That was me,” Malfoy eagerly says. “I was slashed by a hippogriff.”

“A hippogriff?” Professor Umbridge repeats, frantically jotting down notes. She doesn't know how the teacher could be so ignorant of the incident – it had resulted in the Ministry killing the poor thing, after all. She seems like the type of person who'd love to see animals die at the hands of a sharp weapon.

Harry opens his mouth to speak. “O-”

Alice slams the heel of her shoe into Harry's foot. He winces in pain and glowers at her, but doesn't say anything. She'll apologize later. Raising her hand, she sweetly asks, “Excuse me, professor?” 

Professor Umbridge slowly turns to look at her. Harry goes back to looking at the bowtruckles. Whether it's because he just realized she saved his ass or just because he's frustrated, he does exactly what he's supposed to be doing. “Yes, Miss...?”

“Quinn,” she answers. “I'm actually meant to be in my sixth year here, but health complications came up and I'm taking my fifth year now.”

“And this pertains to the conversation in what way?” She doesn't seem like she's about the punish her, which makes Alice want to sigh in relief. She just has to keep her anger under check.

Alice takes a hesitant step forward. “I didn't want you to believe that I witnessed the incident Draco is referring to, though I do know quite a bit about it. He was injured by a hippogriff. However, Professor Hagrid laid explicit instructions about how to approach one safely, and it was not mandatory for the students to do so. Furthermore, Harry went prior to Draco and followed each instruction Hagrid gave. He was not injured. If you ask any of the students present – which I believe is the entirety of this class – I'm sure that they would tell you the same story.” 

Professor Umbridge gives her a long, scrutinizing look before turning to another Slytherin. Even if she despises her, Alice has to admit that she's smart. A Slytherin is more likely to agree with Draco's side of the story, and the professor must know that. “Is Miss Quinn telling the truth?”

The Slytherin looks from Draco to Alice. Draco gives him a hardened stare, while Alice settles for a warm smile. Her heart is pounding furiously in her chest. If he says otherwise, Professor Umbridge will certainly give her detention for lying.

“Yes, Professor,” he says.

He returns Alice's smile.

Professor Umbridge does not punish Draco for lying, nor does she ask more Slytherins. She jots down a final note on the matter, says, “I see” and goes on to observe the bowtruckles with a distasteful interest. And when Alice turns to Harry to mutter an apology, he's giving her a grateful look that makes her certain that she did the right thing.

**~v~**

Whatever she had been expecting from Professor Blackwood after their startling weekend revelation, it certainly wasn't the sight that greets her as she steps into the room. Chaos has erupted among her peers that are already there. Purebloods are complaining about what is on their desks, and anyone who had ever been among Muggles stares at their desks with wide eyes. 

Hermione and Alice hesitantly approach their own.

She can hear Ron and Harry talking nearby, but her focus is solely on what is right before her. Hermione gives it a tentative poke. Alice grabs it and numbly flips through the pages. The little staple in the corner gleams in the light of the room, and cleanly printed text peers back at her. It's not a large packet, perhaps only five pages at most. But the presence of it is astounding. The wizarding community loves antiquity, hence the abundance of parchment. Even if the paper itself wasn't questionable, it's the fact that something was _printed_ in a school where technology never works the way it's meant to – how is something like this even possible?

Professor Blackwood emerges from his office.

And Alice and Hermione, who had been determined to avoid him at all costs, rush over to where he is with the packets in hand. She catches a glimpse of an expensive printer as he quickly shuts the door behind him. 

“Sir,” Hermione says, “this is paper.” 

He smiles. “It is.”

“And you have a printer,” Alice adds, pointing back at the professor's office. She's holding the packet away from her like it's one of those living books Hagrid assigned years ago. Technology and magic don't mesh. They can't work together in a productive way; it has to be one or the other.

Professor Blackwood's smile momentarily falters as he looks at her, but he quickly regains his composure. “I do,” he admits. “You make it sound like I've just committed some sort of taboo.”

“It shouldn't be possible,” Hermione incredulously protests, her voice high with frustration and a dash of terror. The room has fallen silent behind them. The students are all watching the confrontation, having sat down at some point when Alice wasn't looking.

“The impossible is only impossible until you try it,” he counters. He's clearly thrilled by the conversation. She can see it in the way he's straightened himself up, and the way he leads them back to their seats. He's got a skip to his step. The smile stubbornly remains, and she hates how it makes her want to smile, too. 

_“Miss Alice, your research is astonishing,” he says. He's grinning, but it's a beautiful sort of smile. His entire body seems to be swelling with a childish joy. None of his previous smiles have been like this. They've all been cruel and heartless and honestly a bit cliché. But this? This feels like the smile of actual person. For a moment, she can believe that she's not talking to her kidnapper._

_He scoots down the bench so their legs are bumping against each other. They're so close; she can smell his breath – minty, but not overbearingly so. A gloved hand rests on her notebook as he pulled it in his direction. The scrawling, barely legible writing doesn't seem to bother him. He's still awed by her studies, even though she mentioned it nearly a week ago in passing._

_“They never said how much you've researched,” he admits, breathless. He peers over her shoulder at the other side of the notebook. “Or how wonderful it is. I-I've never seen anything like it.”_

_She blushes from the praise. Even if it's coming from him, it's still touching. “I haven't been able to do any trials before. Except with you, of course.”_

_“Of course,” he agrees. “That would be foolish. But there is something wonderful about combining science and magic, isn't there? So much could be accomplished if we just tried other methods...”_

_She finds herself nodding in agreement. Finally, someone who understands! Science isn't an obstacle; it's a helping tool towards advancing the wizarding world. Everyone else is just too blind to see it. Then she remembers who she's talking to, and she feels ashamed of their momentary connection._

_“Do you ever think about how much you could help people?”_

_She stares at him. He's watching her, but, at the same time, he's got a distant look to his eyes. It's almost as if he's forgotten that she's there. “I think about how much I could help myself, Edward,” she coldly says, and there's a focus that returns to his eyes. And that coldness, too, that coldness that suddenly doesn't seem right on a face like his._

_“Naturally. I was just wondering, I suppose. It's always interesting to see how other people's brains work.” He gets to his feet. “Well, I should probably be going now. I'll leave you to your studies, Miss Alice.”_

The world shifts back into focus. Only a handful of seconds have passed since the flashback started, but Hermione is supporting her with a tight grip on her arm and is in the middle of getting her to sit down. Alice wriggles her arm free. Just as she's about to open her mouth again, she suddenly feels tears rolling down her cheeks. And she's startled to realize that it's because of that memory – she had been so close to understanding Edward, and something she had said had pushed him away.

 _Professor Blackwood_ , she corrects herself. 

“Alice,” Hermione whispers as the professor takes his place behind his desk. There's worry in his eyes, but he's stubbornly masking it with that smile. Hermione moves her hand down to Alice's own hand, leaving it there and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Are you alright? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” 

She shakes her head.

Ron and Harry exchange nervous looks over at their desks, and she can see that they're about to stand up. She meets their eyes. Shakes her head again. It's taking all of her focus not to cry even more than she already is. She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders and looks back at Professor Blackwood.

“As you can see,” he says, starting the class after a tense pause, “I've given each of you a copy of some vocabulary that will frequently come up in your class. I'd suggest checking it over at some point, but there won't be a test on this – I just want you to understand what I'm talking about. Today we'll be working on pentacles again...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter! I had a sudden burst of inspiration today, and decided to finish things up. I've had the first half with Umbridge laying around for quite some time; I just haven't had the motivation to write about Professor Blackwood's class. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'm curious to see what you're thinking about both Alice and Blackwood now!


End file.
